Things began to normalise more quickly than John ever could have hoped. John spent most of the weekend (they skipped the Hogsmeade trip) prying Sherlock for his feelings—who made it as difficult as possible at first, of course… but once he started talking, he seemed unable to stop.

He spoke of a devouring darkness inside his body, one that told him he was worthless and deserved every pain the world had to offer him. His soul was smouldering inside him—unwilling to disintegrate to ash but also begging for it. He couldn't focus on anything, which for Sherlock Holmes was the cruellest punishment imaginable—no, not the part about wanting to die, just the part about not thinking clearly. Though Sherlock hesitated to call it feeling suicidal, because it wasn't a desire to die, per se, and it wasn't even his desire. It was like his soul wanted to abandon him. It was disgusted by him. It wanted him to be disgusted by himself and did whatever it could to wrench remorse out of Sherlock. If that meant making Sherlock feel like less than nothing, so be it.

Sherlock's theory was that if killing someone broke your soul, torturing an innocent weakened your soul. John's theory, which he didn't voice, was that if Sherlock had kept going the way he had been—without beginning to open up to John—it would've broken anyway, as if he really had committed murder.

Sherlock didn't buy at first that the power of love could repair the mutilation, as Dumbledore had implied, but after improving as quickly as he did, he'd stopped being such a cynic. Maybe the damage could be mended after all.

Sherlock's behaviour made more sense now. People who are bullied want to bully others. Sherlock was getting this inside his own head at all hours of the day, and because of it, he couldn't help but have an unkind desire to make other people hurt with him. John was the closest to him so he got the brunt of it.

"I think part of me wanted to lose you. I felt—" He sighed. "Feel like I don't deserve you anymore. But I'm so selfish I couldn't just let you go."

"No," John quickly said. "Don't do that to yourself. This is just the Dark magic talking. None of it's actually true, you know."

Sherlock looked at him like he'd never considered that before. Like he'd been buying it all this time and hearing it from John was the first time it occurred to him that he wasn't a pile of pond scum.

It broke John's heart that Sherlock could ever feel that way.

But the moment that he started to talk about it, the remorse he felt started to show through. And once he started feeling the guilt rather than the revulsion, his mind began to quiet. It was satisfied that he really understood what he had done—it was never entirely silent, but it was manageable when it was only mumbling.

That, however, was only half of it. While the magical guilt ate away at him, there was the mundane type of trauma: when he shut his eyes, he saw her face, contorted in pain. Sometimes when he looked at her, all he could see was her writhing on the ground. When he was trying to sleep he heard her screaming, endlessly, which kept him awake all these weeks. And punctuated in the screams were John's sobs.

Yes, that had affected him too. Even in the weeks after what happened, they'd slept together in the Room of Requirement and every night, he had to check to make sure that he was imagining John crying, because it sounded so real he was always sure it was really happening.

But that too started to die down once he talked about it. Once John knew, he started to stay up as long as Sherlock was awake, and told Sherlock he had to wake him if it started happening again. Sherlock was too broken to mind his pride at the moment, so he actually did what John requested. The arrangement made for some long, unpleasant nights, but instead of John sleeping fine and Sherlock not at all, they both got a few hours. It was unquestionably worth it to John.

He still wasn't eating very much, even for him, but John was working on it. He looked unhealthily thin nowadays. People were starting to notice.

The thing that helped more than anything, however, was talking to Molly. Being kind to Molly made the whispers hush to nothing, made her screams go away for a time. In fact, he was now so nice to her that John was initially afraid she might really fall in love with him. He didn't fear that now, however. She was… different, lately. More confident. While Molly Hooper used to talk very little while in big groups, she now made her presence known. And this new Molly didn't seem to be looking for a boyfriend at all.

So within a week, Sherlock could publically act like his old self again. Things weren't okay, but they were at least headed in the right direction. He was certainly more sensitive than usual—just the thought of Molly or John being in danger put him on edge—but honestly Sherlock could do with a dose of compassion.

As soon as things started to calm down, John finally picked up Sherlock's journal to read it.

He'd almost picked it up so many times, but it never seemed like the right time. Then the torture thing happened and he couldn't bring himself to even look at the thing when things had been bad with Sherlock.

But now Sherlock's feelings were the main event at most of their private conversations so it seemed only appropriate to punctuate it with more Sherlock—pre-torture Sherlock feelings would certainly be comforting right now.

So he grabbed the book before heading to History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in the same hand as the paper that Binns had let him turn in late—it was far better now. Sherlock even proofread it for him, as Sherlock was often trying to make up for the bad weeks with little things like this.

As soon as the kids around him began to snore, he opened the journal up and skimmed over the introductory letter again, just to make sure he remembered what it said. Then he went to the first page.

This morning I awoke and was thinking about you immediately. I'm not just saying that to boost your ego, I promise you. Actually, specifically, I was thinking "Why am I sleeping in the dormitories when I could sleep next to John in the Room of Requirement?" I figure later today, I will suggest that very thing.

The moment after that, I started thinking about blood toxicity content when…

John rolled his eyes at some of the things Sherlock put down. Because really, some of it didn't mean a thing to John, but still he read every word three times. Like he knew anything about bruises that formed on a dead body or the exact effects that cocaine had on the human brain. But John wondered how many mystery novels Sherlock secretly read on his free time from the random things that went through his head. He always knew Sherlock liked a good mystery, but he had no idea he was this fascinated with forensic science. It was almost a shame that, as a wizard, he most likely wouldn't go into the profession, because he'd make a great detective.

Mostly, John was flattered by how often Sherlock spoke of John. Somehow, it had surprised John, though maybe it shouldn't have. In one entry, Sherlock explained it like this:

I don't spend a great deal of time letting my thoughts linger on one specific thing, ordinarily. Unless it's some great mystery, of course. Otherwise, I am – as you know – quite easily bored. But you… I could sit for ages and ponder you. Try to name the exact colour of your eyes. Plot out the curve of your lips on a graph. Memorise the feel of your skin next to mine. Muse upon your great kindness and bravery, two traits I could never wish to possess in the same way you do – actually, two traits I never appreciated until I saw them in you. I never thought I would find a person that was so interesting to me. But you are somewhat of a puzzle to me, John, because in some ways you are so ordinary. So why can't I ever stop thinking of you? Why do you never bore me? Even I have not figured out the answer to that yet.

John was halfway through when class ended. Sherlock was there outside, as always, and stooped down to plant a kiss on John's cheek before they began to walk.

"You're reading the journal?" Sherlock marvelled. "Aren't you getting enough of my feelings right now?"

"I could never get enough of hearing what you think."

"Then do you want to hear what I think right now?" he asked.

"Of course," John replied.

"You have Longbottom for Herbology next."

"Yes," John replied, even though it wasn't a question. Sherlock had known his schedule since the first week.

"I have him on Thursdays and Fridays. And I've noticed something peculiar about him lately."

"You mean like all the teachers?" asked John. For the past few weeks, since John was now aware of it, he could see the signs that they were under the Imperius Curse. It was hard to know how many of them truly were, but all of John's professors seemed spacey and overly pleasant. They were all fonder of cancelling class.

"No, not like the other teachers," replied Sherlock. "That's exactly the thing. He seems the same as always. I'm starting to think he's not under the curse at all."

This was the first time Sherlock had talked about Moriarty since he started to get better. John wasn't going to rush Sherlock into getting back into the fray, but he'd wondered when it would come up again. John was happy to hear it, honestly. It meant he truly was feeling pretty normal again.

"But he's a powerful professor," John said. "An ex-Auror. How could Moriarty afford not having him on his side?"

"But that's just it. Remember, the curse can be fought by someone with a strong will. An ex-Auror Hero of Hogwarts would hardly be the type to get thwarted by a mere Imperius Curse, don't you agree?"

John was relieved for a bit of good news, since it'd been a while since they had any. "So you're saying that, other than McGonagall herself, Professor Longbottom might be the only professor in the school not under Moriarty's control?"

"Yes."

"Okay… so how do we make sure?"

"That I haven't figured out quite yet. Give me a moment to think."

John let Sherlock ponder in silence as they walked down the steps to go out to the vegetable patches. John didn't mention that Sherlock needed to get to his own class (being late to Moriarty's class maybe wasn't the wisest idea right now). But Sherlock didn't like to be interrupted while he thought, not even for class.

"I've got it," said Sherlock after a minute.

"Alright, tell me."

"When someone is under the Imperius Curse, they feel intense relaxation and even elation, so much so that feelings of anger or pain don't really register. That's how I knew that Pomfrey's under the curse—she's been in far too good a mood lately. So I think that if you either taunt Longbottom or cause him pain somehow, you'll be able to tell pretty readily if he's under the curse or not."

John gaped up at him. "Wait. So your plan is for me to make fun of, or even injure, a professor? You're out of your bloody mind!"

"It's for the greater good, John."

"Fine, then you do it."

"I don't have him until tomorrow. There's been enough dallying as it is. Remember, Molly's life is at stake here."

John grumbled for a moment. "Alright, try to piss off Longbottom, got it."

"If you can illicit any unpleasant reaction out of him, he's probably not under the curse."

"What if he's just not under it right now? It could be Moriarty doesn't want them all like that constantly."

"No, Moriarty would have them under it all the time," Sherlock disagreed. "The moment they're free of the curse, they could go tell someone what's happening."

"Yes, maybe." Like John would ever argue with a theory of Sherlock's. Chances are, he was right.

"And today I will go visit Professor Hagrid and do the same."

"You think he's okay too?"

"I'm not sure whether it's possible to perform an Imperius curse on a half giant. They're Impervious to many spells—not the Cruciatus or Killing curses, but I'm unsure if that implies to the Imperius curse. And of course I could go to the library and read on it, but this is much faster. And more fun," Sherlock added with a smirk.

John shook his head. "Yeah, loads of fun," he muttered. "But once we figure it out, what are we supposed to do? Tell them about Moriarty's plans?"

Sherlock began to speak, but John didn't hear what he said, for he was distracted by someone else speaking—it was muffled and unintelligible, but it was definitely there. And close, too. For a moment, he thought it might be his Harpies pin and Molly was speaking to him, but the voice sounded male, not female… and after listening for another second the voice seemed to be coming from his book bag. He opened the bag.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, annoyed at being ignored.

"Something's making noise in my bag. Like talking or something."

"That'd be—" Sherlock began, but he was interrupted by a voice that could now be understood, since the bag was open.

"Yes, that's me," replied the voice inside John's bag.

John dug to the bottom and came upon the thing that was speaking after a moment. One of his Chocolate Frog cards.

"Dumbledore?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes, hello. My, it's nice to see something other than the inside of your bag. Not to be rude, but it's rather dull in there."

John just stared for a long moment. "I didn't know Chocolate Frog card portraits could talk."

"Do you encounter many people who become mysteriously mute in certain venues?" he asked, seemingly confused by John's assumption. Before John could think of something to say to that, he continued, "No matter. I thought it was about time we spoke again."

"Okay…" John muttered, lowering his voice because of the weird glances he was getting from passers-by at the fact that he was talking to his own hand.

"Minerva has seen the memories. She's been trying to get to the right people at the Ministry, but getting anything done over there is, to be frank, a nightmare. She can't get a direct line to the Minister or the Head of the Auror's Department—which I find confusing, personally, considering that she knows them both personally. But in the meantime she's got Molly Hooper under surveillance. I feel I shouldn't say more, as not to betray her trust entirely."

"But, Dumbledore, why are you even telling us this much?" asked John. "It's not like it's technically our business. We're just a couple of kids."

He gave John a small smile. "In my quite considerable amount of life experience, and even some death experience too, I've found that 'just a couple of kids' can change the world quite easily, if only they have the will."

"But you knew Harry Potter," said John dismally. "I'm nothing like that."

"Harry Potter was not, in his youth, an extraordinary person. He is still, in many ways, quite average. It is his courage and his heart that set him apart, John Watson, and those two things you have in excess. And Sherlock Holmes is clever and cunning. Together, with some of your other friends too, you will succeed."

"But what makes it our responsibility to save everyone?" asked John.

"You already know the answer to that."

"Because we saw it first?"

"Partly. And because you know, somewhere inside, that you are the only ones who can fix this. As much as I respect and admire Minerva, her need to follow all the rules will not help her in this case. This problem needs a precision instrument, someone Moriarty won't expect. And that means you."

"Okay, yeah, Sherlock's amazing, we know that, but I think you give me too much credit," replied John.

"No," said Sherlock, speaking for the first time in this conversation, "you just don't give yourself enough credit."

John looked up with a little half smile at the praise, locking eyes with Sherlock. His Sherlock.

"Oh, young love," said Dumbledore. "I do love it, even in death."

John looked down at the card with a hard blush. "Erm…" he muttered.

"Oh, what, do you think it might bother me that you love another boy? You may find my world views aren't quite so narrow, Mr Watson." There was a twinkle in his eye like he was telling some private joke that John didn't understand.

"Oh… well then thanks, I guess," he said awkwardly. "But I've got to go to class or Longbottom will be cross with me."

"Let's hope he is," Sherlock murmured.

Dumbledore's little painting gave a smile. "I am glad he decided to be a professor after all. I always thought he should be." A pensive pause before adding, "Maybe we shall speak again next time I eavesdrop."

"I hope so," replied John earnestly. He really did like Dumbledore—he wished he'd known him before he was a painting.

Then Dumbledore walked out of the picture. John put the card back in his bag, but put it in a small pocket instead of letting it tumble to the bottom and get crushed by books like before.

"So, time to piss off a professor, then," said John mockingly, smirking.

Sherlock smiled down at him, equal parts fond and amused.

"You'll do great," said Sherlock, swooping down to give him a quick kiss.

John seized the sides of his face, letting his fingers dig into the curls at the back of his head, and he kissed him harder for a long moment.

Sherlock looked surprised when he pulled away.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," said John timidly.

"No…" Sherlock said, a grin slowly finding his face, "it's fine."

"We haven't slept together in a month, you know," added John nonchalantly.

"Trust me, I know," Sherlock said. "It's been far too long."

John bit his lip, looking up at Sherlock with an eyebrow cocked. "Well I'm rather busy, so I can't at the moment. See, my boyfriend's given me a possibly dangerous task to finish."

"Has he? Sounds like a prat."

"Oh, he is," John agreed. At that he smiled and walked past him, nudging his shoulder playfully as he went.